


Shrooms, Schwagg, & Schtupping

by I_AM_KING_DAD



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Facials, M/M, One Shot, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:56:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6853636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_AM_KING_DAD/pseuds/I_AM_KING_DAD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Stanmobile's overheated in the desert. What are a couple of degenerates supposed to do but have a good time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shrooms, Schwagg, & Schtupping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CherryAxel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryAxel/gifts).



> This was a prompt that I wrote for a follower on tumblr. Please, enjoy!

“I thought you told me to put on the air!”

“Wh-what? Fuck! No, Stan, I told you to put on the heat.”

“Why would we do that? We’re in the middle of the desert!” 

“Oh god,” Rick placed the palm of his hand on his brow. He had only fallen asleep for twenty minutes, and now the car was off to the side of the road next to a bluff in the shade. Smoke emitted from the Stanmobile, the engine was clearly overheated.

Stan lifted the hood of the car, “Well, maybe if I put some wat-”

“Give me that,” Rick snarled, pulling a bottle of water out from Stan’s hands, “Y-y-you’ll damage the engine. How long have you had this car? Years?”

Putting his hands up in the air, he relinquished control of the situation over to Sanchez, “Then whadda we do?” hands shielding his eyes, he gazed into the cloudless afternoon sky.

“You’re lucky we’re in a shady spot and sundown will be in,” Rick calculated something in his head, but the heat was fomenting his ire, “I dunno, a few hours, I guess,” he shrugged and walked around the side of the bluff, looking for something that could assist them. Unfortunately, in order to keep going, the engine would simply have to cool down. 

Stanley, used to the constant issues that the northern-bought car provided him, mosied to the back of the car, and opened the trunk. Maybe there was something in here to pass the time. He rummaged through the loose clothing, baubles, odds-and-ends, and occasional weapons, to find a crushed, wrinkled pouch hidden near the wheel well. Normally, he would just ignore it, but it didn’t hurt to take a look at what was inside. A simple peek brought a grin to his face, “Rick!” he called over.

With his back facing Stan, Rick did not budge, and stated, “I-I swear, if I turn around and you dumped our only water on that fu-uhhhhh-cking engine, I’ll leave you here.” 

“Oh, I guess I’ll just eat these all on my own.”

Rick turned around, eyeing Stan suspiciously, “What do you have?”

Stan pulled out a plastic baggy and waved it around, “These suckers will have you tripping for days!” 

Rick strode over to Stan and held his hand out for the bag. Stan set it in his hand, and Rick looked it over, “I’m guessing these,” eyeing the bag, he poked at it a bit, “dirt covered sticks? Are Psilocybin mushrooms. Like these’ll do anything. They look ancient” he threw the bag in his direction, which Stan caught.

“Got nothin’ better to do,” Stan grimaced thinking about Rick’s lovely description, but it would be worth it, “Normally I eat these with peanut butter or something…”

Rick sneered, “So you offer this shit to me, and then y-you get uppity because it tastes bad?” he threw his arms up in the air in frustration. It was getting too hot. He grumbled and ripped the bag away from Stan’s hands. Dumping half the contents into his palm, he shoved it in his mouth. Chewing with his mouth open while glaring at the other man, “See?” he spit some out while he spoke. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, “Just do it!” 

Comforted that Rick would partake in this food poisoning adventure with him, he popped the rest of the baggie’s contents into his mouth. It tasted woody and old. The mushrooms gained a rather strange texture when mixed with saliva. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Stan made a hard swallow, and Rick shook his head, walking away. 

“Nothin’s gonna happen,” he pulled his shirt off, and went back to the car’s engine, “Maybe I can make this wreck better,” normally, he’d just hop a dimension away, get what he needed, and come back. Today he felt like making things interesting.

Stan didn’t mind. He sat in the dirt, back against the bluff, fiddling with a paddleball he found in his dufflebag. He didn’t appreciate Rick’s lack of faith in him, but he was used to it, and decided to sit back, and let Rick do all the hard work. The wooden handle of the paddleball thumped to a steady beat. The sand sizzled and whipped into dust devils on occasion. A roadrunner with one leg hopped erratically about; Stan was amused by the irony. In the shade, the heat wasn’t too oppressive. In fact, it was better than the last few days. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad? He could just relax, and…

“Fuuuck!” That didn’t last long.

Popping his head around the corner to get a glimpse of Rick, who was shaking his hand and stuck a finger in his mouth, “Y’okay?” it was too hot for him to enunciate much.

“Burnt my finger,” he hissed, “what are you doing over there? Just relaxing? Given up already? That’s great, Pines, I know I can count on you in a jam,” he wiped his hands on his pants, and then altogether removed the lab coat and blue shirt, exposing his incredibly sweaty torso. Stan candidly admired Rick’s slick abdomen, heat slowly creeping up from his chest to his neck in the form of a splotchy pink rash, barely noticeable. 

“You already said it’s gotta cool down, c’mere, I got somethin’ else,” he patted the ground next to him with an audible slap. 

Rick’s curiosity trumped his annoyance with Stan, and he strolled over, plopping down in the dirt next to him. They sat on the passenger side of the car next to the doors. The pair eyed the bluff they were parked next to, watching some reddish dust blow from the top of it in wisps, “Well, what is it?” 

Stanley produced a tightly rolled, impressively long joint, “Was saving it for later, but I think now would be the best time,” he held out a lighter and the joint as an offering, “guests first,” 

“Oh wow, y-you were really holding out on me,” Rick snorted, and obliged him, taking the joint to his lips and flicking the lighter. The first hit was always the most floral. Drawing in deeply, he savored the flavor in his mouth before letting the smoke leak in two steady streams from his nostrils, “Yeaaaaaaaaaaah,” he groaned as it happened. He handed it over to Stan, “That’s...that’s some good shit,” he slumped against the car, satisfied by the quality. 

Acrid smoke filled Stan’s mouth and lungs as he inhaled. He let it settle, even though he felt the faint tickle of a cough in his throat. Controlled, he exhaled, a burst of smoke clouding his visage. He sighed in contentment, “That’s the ticket…”

This was the time that Stan liked to be around Rick the most. His relaxed nature was pleasant when they smoked. He inched a bit closer, the warmth from his chest and neck spreading to his jaw. Pointing out the struggling roadrunner from earlier, the two laughed together, which eventually turned to rasped coughs. Taking another hit each, the rasped coughs transformed into bellowing laughter; marijuana released their better nature in that instant. Rick leaned into Stan’s arm as their guffaws trailed off to quiet chuckles. As the joint dwindled between them, they seemed to be more involved with each other. The closeness was electric. Stan could feel his jeans tighten a little. Once the last bit of green had been smoked, Stan stuck the roach in his back pocket. He produced a pack of cigarettes rolled into his sleeve, and offered one to Rick, who accepted. 

As the two lit up their cigarettes, Stan could feel a rush of nicotine in his system. Looking into the sky, it seemed bluer. He could hear the wind whip across the land. Another inhale from the two, and they were encased in a haze of tobacco smoke. It seemed different, like shapes began to form in the ephemeral fog. His muscles twitched in his jaw. Saliva began to pool in his mouth. A tingling sensation plagued the base of his neck, moving into the back of his skull. Hurriedly puffing on his cigarette, he looked over at Rick, who seemed even calmer than before. Stan didn’t mention that mushrooms made him feel active, powerful, and uninhibited. Well, Sanchez would see just how uninhibited he could be…

“How’re ya feeling?” he asked casually, brushing his knuckles against Rick’s knee as he moved his hand up to take one last drag of his cigarette. He audibly inhaled through his teeth, hissing the smoke out through the gaps of each tooth. 

Rick wasn’t paying attention. Swinging his head up and swiveling to look at the other man, he mumbled, “Pretty fuckin’ great,” he eyed Stanley’s expression, “that shit’s worked after all, huh?” he shook his head and laughed to himself. 

Not sure if Rick was taking any hints, Stan flicked the butt of his cigarette against the bluff, and watched it bounce into a scraggly bush. He placed a large hand on Rick’s knee, gripping it and rubbing his thumb in circles on the divot of his patella. The texture of his trousers was pleasing, and he continued this circling in an exaggerated motion. Rick didn’t seem to mind it. He looked at Stan, sizing up his chest, arms, and shoulders, and to his face. Stan couldn’t read his expression, but his eyes were glassy and the lids were rimmed in dark pink. Their breathing seemed loud, air whistling through abused windpipes. As if his eyes focused in ultra high definition, he could count the lines in the furrows of blue-hued haired man’s brow, the hairs he missed when he shaved, the faint string of spittle forming in the corner of his mouth and dripping down. Unable to handle himself much longer, he reached up to grip Rick’s chin and planted a rough kiss on his lips.

Initially, Rick did not respond. His lips remained limp, his eyes still open. In a delayed reaction, he began to press back, lids sliding shut. He grunted, and gripped at Stan’s thigh, fingers digging into the fabric of his jeans. Stan broke the kiss to grip Rick by the waist, and pull him into his lap. Massive hands ran down Rick’s chest and stomach. Rick wasn’t used to Stan being so handsy, or this rough. He sneered, but said nothing, only going back to Stan’s lip to bite at the lower one. Growling and pulling away, Stan grinned and leaned close to Rick’s ear, “Get in the back,” he jerked his head at the Stanmobile. Rick remained skeptical, but smacked his hand against the handle, hooking his fingers lazily in the handle, and jerking the door to the back open. He found himself being lifted, and hoisted into the car. 

The air in the car was dense and heavy. Heat alone could be overwhelming, but the two clambered for the inside, and laid with half their bodies still hanging outside the car. Stan forgot to open the leave the windows open. “I wanna be on top,” he placed a hand on Stan’s face to push him off. Stanley complied, rolling clumsily so that the slighter man could be on top. The least he could do was offer him that. He wouldn’t be easy on him, after all. Rick was already tugging at the fabric of Stan’s stained, collared shirt. He was surprise he was still in it. Fumbling with the buttons he pulled the shirt off and the soaked wife beater underneath. When Rick pushed him into the seat again he felt the hot metal of a seat buckle seer into his back. He growled and ripped at the buckle of Rick’s belt, and when he didn’t achieve the results he wanted, he proceeded to claw at the man’s back. 

Rick pulled back, “Easy, Hulk!” he shoved a hand in his chest and pulled himself away to remove his pants and shoes. To stan, this action seemed to take forever. He peered up at the ceiling of the car. Geometric patterns began to form in a faint beam of reflected light in soft yellows and oranges. Wiping some saliva away on his arm, he unbuckled and pulled off his own pants, but only enough to free his dick, which caught on the band of his boxers. He was already hard; he had been for a while. Psychedelics always made him feel strong, especially mushrooms. Stan’s muscles twitched, and he gripped his pulsing cock, pulling the head of the foreskin back. A bead of precum had already formed in the slit, and he ran his thumb over it. He watched as a now nude Rick slide over top of him, “Looks like someone couldn’t wait…” 

Stan licked the precum off his thumb, tasting salt and bitterness, “Get over here,” Rick didn’t have time to reply, a hand was at his throat, and he was being pulled down. Stan ran his tongue over the helix of Rick’s ear, teeth nipping at the lobe. Rick shuddered when Stanley’s hot, wet breath blew gently in the canal, his voice thick with lust, “I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t walk, got it?” His free hand reached for something lying on the floor. It was a hot, labelless bottle of lube. Rick wasn’t given a chance to respond before he was shoved up, the bottle pushed against his chest. Rick narrowed his eyes, about to respond, but Stan grabbed his wrist, gripping tight, “Don’t give me lip, just do it.” 

His baser nature dictated that he punch Stan, but the sudden take-charge attitude that he had intrigued him. Maybe it was the combination of drugs and attitude, but he wanted to listen to him. His cock twitched at attention. The lube was hot when he squeezed it onto his fingers, dripping a little bit more than usual. Keeping his eyes locked with Stan’s, he lowered his lubed hand behind him, spreading his ass cheeks and circling around his puckered hole. His index finger eased into the tender flesh, his body relaxed enough to where it pushed past the sphincter with relative ease. He wanted it. Bad. Rick was hasty to get two fingers inside, groaning as he went. Setting the bottle next to them, his other hand idly played with himself, grabbing and squeezing at his balls. 

Amused, Stan watched this display, “Jerk yourself off...real slow,” he ordered. He was pumping his fist on his own member at a sluggish, steady pace. 

Rick let go of his balls, fingers trailing up his thigh, and gripping the base of his dick. He didn’t want to go slow, he ached. His body shuddered. Loosely, long fingers slid up and down firm, tumescent flesh. Biting his lip and furrowing his brow, he moved to straddle Stan. His head reeled, mind like a television with static, “Pines,” he gasped. He’s allow the charade of submissive to go further, but he wanted it over, and was done with this display. 

“What d’ya want?” Stan inquired, tone smug, “Tell me.”

Teeth bared, Rick’s aggressive nature pushed through, “C-can you just fuck me already, Jesus!” 

“Say please,”

“Holy shit.”

“Do it.”

“...please,” It was in that instant, Rick was grabbed by the hips. He pulled his fingers away and let go of his dick in order to brace the back seat and a headrest. Stan’s saliva made him look simply rabid. He dug his fingernails into the soft flesh of Rick’s hips. 

“That’s a good boy,” Stan cooed. Rick bristled at this, but assisted in positioning Stan’s girthy cock at his entrance. Chuckling, then slapping Rick’s ass, he began to ease the head inside. Rick moaned excitedly, but was shushed. This was puzzling as there were no humans around, and they hadn’t seen another soul for hours. When Rick went to push himself down onto Stan’s dick, he was stopped. His strong hands held him there, in a controlled, teasingly slow thrust. Once he was fully buried inside him, Stanley wiggled his hips. His hands went from Rick’s hips, to his arms, gripping the forearms tight enough to bruise, “Ready?” but in the midst of asking the question, he already because thrusting, pelvis pushing Rick up. The first thrust was hard enough to lift Rick up so his head smacked against the roof. Rick swore, Stan laughed, and continued his thrusting. 

Rick moaned in dull, fading pain and an immense amount of pleasure. His dick bounced in the rhythm of the thrusts, precum drooling down the shaft in a sticky stream. Stan’s strength and brutality was working him over well, his breathing now short huffs. Stan was biting his own lip so hard the skin was seconds away from breaking. Yanking the man on top forward, he went to sink his teeth into his shoulder. Rick cried out, and was pushed back up, and looked at the mark. It was already turning purple, teeth marks apparent. He spasmed and sucked in air before he began to drool on himself. His ears rang, and he was almost over the edge when he looked into Stan’s eyes. 

Rick knew that look, he was on the edge too. He coughed, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. Somehow he managed to find words of warning, “Y-you better not,” he let out a low moan, “y-you better not cum in me.” 

In that moment, Stan stopped. He didn’t take kindly to threats in this state of mind, “Oh?” he rumbled, “What’re ya gonna do about it?” 

There was a pause between them. Stan was rubbing his thumbs into the tenderized, slowly-bruises flesh of his wrists, “Hmmm?” and as if he was running on a low speed this whole time, quicked his pace, using Rick’s arms to yank him down onto his dick. After a few moments of intense thrusting-Rick could feel the bones of Stan’s pelvis digging into the soft meat of his ass-Stan reached ecstasy. He buried himself completely in Rick, who protested the whole time. Shooting his hot, slick seed, Stan remained inside him a couple of beats. His breath came out in heaving sighs. Letting go of Rick’s arms, he seemed appeased, and relaxed into the seat. 

Rick was neither finished nor relaxed. He took the opportunity to pounce on Stan, his connecting with his cheek, “Hey!” Stan went to go shove him away, but Rick’s knees were now pinning Stan’s arms to the seat. His left hand snaked through Stanley’s long hair, yanking his head upwards so he was inches away from his still throbbing cock. Stan struggled in that moment, kicking his legs up a bit, but ultimately, it proved to be useless. Rick’s free hand began to pump furiously up and down his dick. Huffing and growling, occasionally his dick would press up against Stan’s cheeks or lips, but he did not force him to take it in his mouth. (He had his teeth bared anyway, it would prove to be a terrible time if he went further with it.) It didn’t take him long before he sent himself over the edge. He came in thick ropes of semen, which hit Stan’s hair, right eye, and chin. Wiping the tip of his dick off on Stan’s lips, Rick turned to stumble out of the car and put his pants back on. 

Stan was desperately trying to remove the spunk from his face, smearing it on his button-up shirt. Great. And they had limited water until they could find a rest stop, “Fuck!” he shouted and did his best before pulling his pants back on. 

When he emerged from his car, Rick was already smoking a cigarette. He handed it to Stan, and lit a new one for himself. They stood there, in silence, the only sounds between them were easing breathes and soft exhales. The pair looked at each other the whole time. When they were done, they leaned against the bluff and relaxed into the cooler dirt. It was late afternoon, soon the car would be driveable again. Stan touched the tender area on his face, and mused to himself that the punch was what sobered him up. Rick was busy admiring the bite mark he left him. Together they finished the last bit of water they had in the bottle.

That evening, when dusk had settled on the landscape, the two were able to start the car. Stan hummed along to the music, and let the windows down as the evening wind cooled them down. Rick was still salty about him pulling the stunt he did, but he regretted nothing. He only wished for a nice shower; his hair and face felt sticky, some of the cum remaining and drying to his skin. After a few miles of driving, Rick produced a bottle from his jacket pocket. It was another bottle of water. He took a swig.

Stan maintained his speed but swerved a fit, “You had a bottle of water the whole time?” he was shocked, and waited for a response.

“That’s what you get, Pines,” he smirked, “I think I like you like that anyway,” he finished half the bottle, and threw it out the window.


End file.
